


In Service to the King

by eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar, PlayingChello



Series: Roleplays with Harley [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Potential dubious consent, Spanking, service dominance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 03:06:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9472739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar/pseuds/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayingChello/pseuds/PlayingChello
Summary: After Altissia, everyone is a little on edge. Noctis thinks he has a way to let go, even for a moment. But Ignis isn't so sure about the idea.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another RP from me and the ever wonderful [Harley](http://www.twitter.com/scientiasins). They wrote Noctis, I Ignis.
> 
> Slight warning, this could be construed as potential dubious consent. Ignis has a minor crisis about not wanting to do what Noctis asks. This is an established relationship built on trust and love that met some challenges with Altissia. I don't mean this to be dubious consent, but if you're ultra sensitive to that topic, I recommend skipping this one.

Ignis has never been more afraid in his life than when he sat in Noctis’ room, blind, unable to see, and not knowing for sure if his prince will ever awaken. He can’t even watch to see if there’s the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. He can only listen, and hope that sound he hears is breathing and that it won’t stop. That the next exhale won’t be a death rattle.

Nothing had ever made him that scared. Not even the attack when Noct was a child, the source of the scar on his back. Maybe it’s because back then, they weren’t… intimate. Not that Ignis didn’t love him then. He had. He always had. But it’s different now. With the caresses and gentle touches they share. Ignis finds his protective sense has only gotten stronger.

But he finds himself elated and also terrified when Noctis wakes. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what Noctis will think. Ignis failed him. He’s less capable and he might not be able to continue protecting him. He might be… inadequate.

What if Noctis doesn’t want him anymore?

Only time will tell.

\--

Flowers.

Deep blues, satin textures, blonde wisps. A soft smile, the tone of her voice, a whirlpool deep as Leviathan’s seas and a blessing. ‘I’ll be watching over you, always’ were her dying words, they were Lunafreya’s final breath, and Noctis is drowning in it all. The memories flood his lungs, and he chokes, he gasps and he fights to _save_ her, because that was what he needed to do. 

The flowers of Tenebrae consumed her, and he was shoved to the surface. He could feel the tension break, could feel himself inhale something in the present, breathed in his true reality and--

He wakes with a groan. It’s warm, and the bed he’s apparently in is soft and the silence is thick. It’s… Eerie, at first, and he forces himself up despite the pain wracking all through his body. It tears smaller sounds from Noctis’ throat, but he pushes through, determined to get a good look around; Where was everyone else? There was a form in the chair, blurry from the sleep in his eyes, seeming far away.

Ignis. Relief, however briefly, floods his veins.

\--

He sits with his back to the bed. Not that it matters. Without his sight, his senses are all fairly multidirectional. So when Noctis stirs, he hears. He turns his head toward the sound. “Back with us?” He tries to keep the worry from his voice. Makes himself seem like nothing more than a trusted advisor.

Ignis doesn’t know what to expect when he stands and reveals himself. “I’ll tell the others, though it may take a bit.” It’s the first time he’s glad he can’t see. He doesn’t want to see the look in Noct’s eyes. He doesn’t want to see the revulsion or the pity. Whatever horrible thing Noct sees in him now. He doesn’t want to see it.

And the longer he stands there, the less he wants to wait to find out via other means. He’s scared. He thought he could never be more scared than he had been while Noctis slept. But he’s _terrified_ that his prince will send him away. He turns away, toward where he’s pretty sure the door is, readying himself to leave.

\--

Ignis faces him. He’s different.

Physically, too, but not just that. He’s different. He doesn’t hold himself with a confidence anymore, it’s almost as if he has no idea where he is; Like he can’t…

See.

Noctis inhales sharply, “You’re hurt.” He says, eyebrows knitting together in concern as he studies Ignis. His glasses are shaded, now, but even through them the injury is clear. The scarring goes right over his eyes and the implications begin to run wild. He’s hurt, clearly badly, and he’s feeling around because he can’t see and oh _gods_ , he’s been blinded. Ignis can’t see. 

Noctis can’t look at him. He couldn’t save Luna. Apparently, he couldn’t save Ignis, either. 

“And Luna…?” 

He knows the answer. Noctis knows Luna is dead, she told him herself. She said goodbye. She made her fate clear, no matter how deeply it hurt. But he wants to hear it solidly; The closure from someone above the thick ocean of memory. 

Something burns in his palm. It’s heavy, and it stings, and he can feel the weight and the near-heat of it through the leather of his glove. This was the proof of Luna, this was the proof of her becoming and the proof that this wasn’t a game, this was real. This was his reality. Noctis begins to shake violently, choking out only an, “Ignis,” because there’s nothing else he can do, and the first thing he thinks of.

\--

“A small sacrifice in the greater battle.” It causes near physical pain to hear Noct’s voice. It’s… good to hear him express concern but it also hurts. Noctis shouldn’t be concerned about him. It’s Ignis’ job to be concerned about Noctis.

But it hurts more when Noct asks after Luna. For many reasons. Because he has to tell him what he already knows. Because it hurts to hear the love in the name, even though he knows the emotion irrational. “She has passed.”

He’s nearly to the door. He’s nearly out of the room, escaping to somewhere where he can breathe and not feel so useless and hurt. He’s _almost_ there. He can feel it.

And then Noctis calls his name.

Ignis never could deny him. He’s feeling around desperately to try to make it to his charge. The _break_ in that cry hurt more than anything else in the world. And Ignis just wants to make it better. His legs touch the bed first, and he nearly tumbles forward onto it. But he manages to find his balance and climb a bit more gracefully onto the mattress, reaching for Noctis. Trying to pull him into him without the coordination of seeing what he’s doing.

\--

Noctis’ body does not feel like his own. The hand holding the ring within its palm is not his, but surely some other King’s; This is not their fate. They couldn’t have been dealt this losing hand. The prince’s body shakes as he tries desperately not to cry, wheezing with the effort, eyes shutting tightly to stop the tears. The burden settles heavy in his chest, and not even leaning into Ignis makes him feel any lighter. 

Gods, Ignis. He’s so clearly struggling, walking like his next step is going to put him on the ground. Noctis puts his weight on his advisor, going limp with the sudden exhaustion despite having slept for who knows how long. He holds the ring firm in his palm, fingers curled around it in bitter anger, frustrated regret. 

This was his doing. 

Had he been quicker, or smarter, this wouldn’t have happened. Luna wouldn’t be dead, and Ignis wouldn’t be blind. All he can do is let the regret, the frustration, the fear and the uncertainty leave him through wheezes and soft whines. He wants to ask after the others, but no words escape him, only harsher, angrier cries. 

What was there to say, besides that? ‘Sorry I screwed up so miserably’ doesn’t cut it, not the slightest, and neither does ‘gee, Iggy, sorry about your fucking eyes, that must really blow’. One of the prince’s hands fists itself into Ignis’ suit jacket for purchase. And for something real to hold on to, besides the goddamn ring.

\--

Everything shatters. Noctis shatters, Ignis shatters. The world may as well be shattering around them. Ignis holds Noctis as tightly as he can, trying to calm the prince with pressure. Or something.

This is something he can do. Or at least try to do. Even without his sight, this is familiar. He doesn’t need to see to know how to hold his prince, where his fingers should trace gently, and where he needs to hang on tight. It’s automatic and familiar.

His voice tries to whisper soothsaying but he can’t find words to convey. A hand brushes up and clumsily cards through Noctis’ hair, feeling the soft locks and trying to push all of his strength and care into the person that needs it most. “Highness…”

Before all of this, a few minutes of holding, some gentle touches, and maybe a few gentle kisses would be enough to bring Noctis out of panic and remind him that even though the world may rest upon his shoulders, he isn’t alone. But it doesn’t seem to be working this time and Ignis doesn’t know what else to do. So he just waits. He holds him best he can and waits for Noctis to indicate he should do anything different.

\--

It takes awhile, but eventually, the panic and the rage and the regret all curl into each other. It forms a heavy weight in Noct’s heart, and it makes him feel ill, but the worst of it passes. All that’s left in fear’s wake are tear tracks and wet cheeks, and a lingering sense of drowsiness. 

Ignis is warm, and the pressure is good. The feel of his advisor’s jacket is grounding, and so are the arms around him; It keeps his consciousness within the confines of his own body, more firmly than it would be if he weren’t being touched. If he weren’t being held by Ignis. 

The sobbing and the shaking reduces to sniffling and occasionally shivering, and Noctis works to try and control it. He takes a few deep breaths, shuddering though they may be, and slowly parts from Ignis. He studies the elder, blearily, and swallows. “...Gimme a second and-- And we can get the others,” Noct takes another breath. “I can, uh. Walk you outta here.”

\--

Finally, _finally_ , Noctis calms. Ignis doesn’t move until his prince does, holding on for dear life until Noctis pulls back. He feels cold, empty, without the constant pressure. Apparently, he’d been calming himself as well as Noctis in their embrace.

“Take all the time you need, Highness.” Ignis hesitates, then stretches his hand upward and slowly feels around until his fingers contact Noctis’ face. He splays his fingers over his cheek, moving, relearning his face in this new way. “I would appreciate that, thank you.”

He feels weak, taking the offered assistance from the man he’s supposed to assist. But he really has no choice. His cane isn’t quite ready yet, so he’s been relying on stumbling and feeling around and their friends when they were around.

He feels like there’s a distance between he and Noctis, even after their quite intimate embrace. And like he should say something but… he doesn’t know what. He doesn’t know where they stand. If he’s even still useful to Noctis, if he’ll bother keeping him around. He’ll only slow them down and hold them back.

\--

Noctis shuts his eyes as Ignis’ fingers splay out over his cheeks, leaning into it just barely. It’s warm, and it’s familiar contact and it is so _painfully_ needed, especially right now, at his most vulnerable. So he nods, wiping under his eyes and taking another deep breath. He didn’t… Want to look like he’d just broken down.

Shoving the ring in his pocket and running a hand over his and Luna’s notebook, he stands, moving to put it in his bag apparently across the room. “Wait here,” Noctis says gently, his voice not so wavering. “I just gotta toss shoes on, and, uh. Put some stuff away.” It will give his eyes time to lose their redness, anyway. 

Book away and boots back on, Noct stands in front of Ignis and holds his hands out. “Ten and two,” he says, meeting his advisor’s hands when they come up to match the position. 

Ignis seems… Unsure. Not just in his movements, but in his speech, in his behavior. It’s _painful_ , he’s never looked so lost as he clearly is now. So Noct does the first thing he can think of before leading him out, “Hey. You got my back?”

\--

When Noctis pulls away and tells him to wait, Ignis wants to whimper and cling. He doesn’t want to be alone. He doesn’t want to be left behind. And he only has the soft sound of bare feet on carpet to tell him that Noctis isn’t actually _leaving_. Just walking across the room and rummaging in a bag. Ignis has to take a couple breaths to calm himself and keep from breaking down. It wouldn’t do to have a panic attack in front of his charge just after they’d just calmed Noctis down.

The slight rush of air and the change in the air around him indicates Noctis has returned to him. Standing, he assumes, in front of him. When he hears Noctis speak, it takes him a minute to realise what he’s trying to get at. But after a moment, he realises he’s offering the positions of his hands, so Ignis knows where to grab. His mouth twitches slightly before he raises his hands to the indicated position and finds Noctis’ hands there to meet him.

Ignis stands, feeling a little more stable with Noctis’ hands in his. He stands a bit unsure, though, when Noctis doesn’t immediately lead him out.

Then he speaks.

The elder turns his head slightly, turning his ears in the direction of Noct’s voice. The young prince sounds… odd. Almost tentative. But there is only ever one answer to the question.

“Always.”

\--

Always. 

Noctis barely runs his thumb over gloved knuckles, and leads Ignis out of the room with one hand on the small of his back. He walks slowly, making sure not to lead his advisor right smack into anything. “I got ya,” he says, “Don’t worry.” 

The days that follow are long, and they are _painful_.

Prompto is quiet, more so than he’s ever been. Gladio is on edge, and it rubs off on Noct; it makes him snappy, it makes his shoulders feel heavier, and it ties a brick to the weight already sinking in his core. It makes him… Colder, and more distant. It makes him recede into his own head to escape the pressures of the outside world. 

They’re on the train to Tenebrae. Or, at least, Noctis is _fighting_ to go to Tenebrae. He hasn’t spoken much, even to Ignis, the poisons add an infection to the already open wound. He knows Ignis needs him, he knows Prompto is probably neck deep in his own blames, but… He can’t face _anyone_. Especially not Ignis. 

But something nags at him one night. Prompto and Gladio headed to the dining car to get something to eat, And Noct sits watching the dark landscape fly by, headphones over his ears, lost in his mind. Something inside tugs at him, yanks on the rope holding that weight; If it isn’t severed soon, he’s going to go crazy. But maybe it doesn’t need to be severed, just… Held by another, for a fleeting moment.

Shrugging off his headphones, Noct pauses his music and looks over to Ignis sitting across from him. He looks just as distant as the prince feels, and it hurts. He knows he must’ve aided in that; The separation that man must be feeling. He stands, slowly, moving to sit across from Ignis, trying not to startle him. “Hey. I have… A suggestion, if you wanna hear it.”

\--

Somehow Noctis always knew what to say to put him at ease. At least enough to let his mask slide back in place properly so he can hide from the world. Pretend none of this bothers him.

But the next days are absolute torture.

There’s tension in the air. No happiness from Prompto, just a caring pity Ignis wishes he could shrug off. Short, tight temper from Gladio, mostly directed at Noctis, who doesn’t deserve it. And Noctis. Noctis just shrinks. Some of the time, Ignis can’t even tell if he’s there or if he’s simply disappeared. He gets so small and inside himself, only coming out enough to snap back at Gladio when he pisses him off.

And they don’t speak. Not really. Ignis is quiet. He hides himself behind his stoic mask of unfeeling and pretends nothing is wrong even though he is _breaking_ inside. He can’t watch the landscape zip by, can’t see the looks on everyone’s faces (although with all this tension so thick he can literally feel it, he probably doesn’t want to), and he can’t look at Noctis’ face and see him smile the way he used to.

So he sits in his seat with his head against the window and stays quiet.

He hears the approach of a person and then a shuffle as the person sits across from him. The scent is what tells him who it is. Noctis. He doesn’t shift from his position, but he does turn his head a bit, to indicate that he knows the prince is there. “Usually I offer the suggestions and you ignore them,” Ignis says dryly. A joke in poor taste that comes out a bit shorter than he intends. “Of course, Highness. It is what I am hear for, after all.”

\--

Ha ha, Noctis thinks bitterly. He bites it back, because the last thing he wants to do is fight, and inhales. “Listen, just-- I got to thinking, and,” the question is hard to pose. Especially because Noct knows it might not go over well, either when brought up or after the deed is done. “I know it’s been awhile, but I want you to punish me.” The last two words are quiet. Private.

“It might be kinda tough, I get it. I just need to quit thinking, and so do you,” It’s not an assumption, it’s a fact. They’ve spent days in their own heads, and now, he wants to be in Ignis’. “I’m pissed, Ignis,” Noct says, voice low. He’s trying to open up. “I want-- I want you to punish me for Altissia. I fucked up. I need this.”

\--

That…

Was not what he was expecting. They’ve barely touched each other since Altissia. And now Noctis wants him to… punish him. It’s been a while, for certain. That’s an understatement. When was the last time they even had a chance to be alone? To explore some of the more private parts of their relationship.

And tough doesn’t begin to describe what it will be. Ignis can barely get around on his own. How is he supposed to do what his prince asks of him when he can’t see where he is?

Not to mention that it feels… wrong. Wrong that Noctis wants punishment for Altissia. Something that isn’t his fault. Something that he doesn’t need to blame himself for. And giving into this request feels like Ignis is giving into the idea that Noctis _deserves_ it. “Noct,” he starts. He uses the familiar form of his name, putting weight and gravity into it. “You did nothing wrong. This… isn’t the way to handle this.”

He pauses and rests his hand on the table that separates them, his cane knocking against his knee as he shifts. “If you want companionship, you know I am happy to oblige. But this?” Though, he already knows that if Noctis pushes even a little, that he’ll melt. He never could say no to him, not really. He’s always in service to his prince.

\--

Noctis prepared for this. He knew Ignis would say no, and he knew that he’d say this was the wrong way to handle it. Maybe he’s right; maybe this isn’t the right way to handle these last several days. But it does need to be handled, and if there’s anything Noct’s learned about Ingis, it’s that he handles things. And he handles them with a firm hand.

“I know this is kind of a lot to ask. I know it’s not gonna be easy.” Saying this would be easy for either party would be a lie. Ignis won’t have the same precision his sight would allow, and Noctis knows this may well go south. To him, though, the rewarding soreness is worth it. The pain and lasting lesson learned from a punishment will be relieving. Something else to focus on.

“It’s okay if it doesn’t run smooth, that’s fine, but I want this. I want you to punish me,” Noctis is a half step away from telling Ignis to take his anger out on him. But he knows if that slips, Ignis’ ‘no’ would be absolute, and he wouldn’t get what he was looking desperately for. He’s careful with his words, because he knows his advisor is as far from a fool as he could possibly be. But just to be sure, Noctis tacks on a hardly audible, “Please, sir.”

\--

All through Noctis’ speaking, Ignis holds fast to his conviction that this is a bad idea. Much as he’d love to be intimate with Noctis again, much as he wants that connection back, to make sure it’s still there and strong. But it wouldn’t only be hard, it would be nye on impossible.

But it grows harder to remain steadfast the longer Noctis goes on. And Noctis knows that Ignis has never really been able to hold the resolve to keep firm when he says no in something. From eating vegetables to waking up early, Noctis always gets his way in the end.

And with that last bit. Ignis has no chance.

Noctis Lucis Caelum, prince- no _king_ \- of Lucis, bearer of the ring of Lucii, has only to mutter that little please and Ignis is puddy. His whole body shivers at the way Noctis sounds with the word sir on his lips. Like Ignis can appreciate it so much more now that he has to rely on the sound rather than seeing his half lidded eyes and the slight blush of his cheeks.

And now Ignis can feel his pants getting a bit uncomfortable and his collar feels unusually hot. This is what Noctis does to him and he can’t even _see_ him. Damn that boy. Damn him and how perfect he is even when he’s asking for something Ignis would rather not do.

But if it’s what he wants… could it really be so bad? They can go slow. Noctis will understand if he stumbles over something or if he misses anything. It’s a chance to bring their closeness back. To remember what they had before everything went wrong.

Ignis sighs and reaches for his cane. “As you wish, Highness.” It may have made more sense for him to use one of his pet names, but they haven’t started yet. And Ignis wants that to be very clear.

\--

Perfect. Noctis feels his heart skips a beat when Ignis agrees, and the rope holding the weight is plucked just so. The vibrations from it transfer outward, his hands not yet visibly trembling though his fingers twitch. He shoves his hands into his pockets, needing something to fixate on as the two make their way to the cabin they share. 

It takes a bit of leading on Noctis’ end to help Ignis there, but he hardly minds. Besides, like it was said earlier, this would take a bit of learning.

\--

Ignis lets himself be lead silently. The path to the cabin is somewhat familiar. The number of steps are a little different than Ignis thinks he remembers, but that may be due to Noctis leading him, rather than Ignis making his own way.

He can feel Noctis’ tension, coiled like a cat ready to pounce. Though, the image doesn’t quite match the exact tension he feels from the other man. It’s more… like a coiled spring, depressed only slightly, longing to be pressed further before being released. Something Ignis thinks he may be able to assist with.

When they reach the door, Ignis reaches forward and only takes a moment to adjust before he can pull open the door and offer Noct entry before him. He follows close behind and sits on the edge of the bed when his legs bump against it. “We need to talk about this before we start. Set up some… guidelines.”

\--

Noct takes a seat next to Ignis, already trying to keep him close. After all, they _are_ fixing to fuck, in one weird way or another. Might as well be glued to him off the bat. “Sure,” he says, “I know our safeword, if that’s what you’re worried about. Can we get on with it?” When in doubt, push your luck.

\--

Noctis is warm next to him. And much as Ignis would like to peel him apart, touch every inch of him, they really need to be careful. There are so many things that will be new for them.

“No, Noct. You need to tell me what you want. What are you looking for out of this, what do you want from me?” Sometimes, Noct doesn’t even have to tell him. Ignis always has had a way of kind of knowing what the prince wants. But now… They’ve been so distant, so disconnected. He’s not sure what he knows now. And he doesn’t want to make a mess of things before they even get started.

“I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t even want to punish you. But if you think it’s what you need…” he trails off, letting the silence speak for him. Noctis is special to him. He’s special to the entire world, but especially to Ignis. They grew up together. Ignis has never left his side.

And he loves him.

\--

Oh. These kinds of guidelines. 

Noctis huffs, not upset, but more slightly dejected that they can’t just jump right into it. But he gets it. “I want you to punish me,” he repeats, “Rough. Humiliate me, don’t even let me _blink_ without your permission,” the requests feel more than embarrassing to verbalize, but it needs to be done. He’s got to say it if he wants to really go through with this. Noct knows details will be needed if the lesson is to sink in. “Really, really punish me, Ignis. Don’t hold back.”

Be pissed at me. All that pent up emotion you’ve got, let it out. Let it out on me because I’m the one you need to be angry at.

Noctis looks down. He’s never much liked explaining these things in detail, but once again, he gets it. He wants Ignis to have a clear picture of what he wants.

\--

Ignis heaves a heavy sigh. It’s not exasperated, per say. More like… he expected this but hoped it wouldn’t be a thing Noctis would ask for. He doesn’t want to hurt him. He doesn’t want to do this. But he will. For Noctis. Because his prince asked for it.

“Well then,” Ignis says with finality. He stands up, cane firm in his grip. His head turns, side to side, as if he’s searching, while he mentally maps out what they have available to them and what he may be able to get away with doing in this less than private place. Then his head focuses in the direction he thinks Noctis is sitting and taps at the boys legs with his cane. “Let’s get started, kitten.” The words are like magic, in a way. They immediately let Ignis climb into his dominate headspace. The place where he forgets that Noctis is a prince because all he sees is the submissive boy he has to punish.

“Down to your pants,” he orders. His voice is firm and a few notes lower than his regular casual speech. He trusts Noctis to obey. Meanwhile, Ignis takes a step back and loosens two buttons in his dress shirt. He adjusts the gloves on his hands, pulling them tight and secure. And he makes a show of it. He may not be able to see, but Noctis certainly can. Ignis can use that to his advantage.

\--

There it is. 

Noctis knows Ignis well enough by now to know what the change in his voice means. A long time though it may have been, he still could never forget that nickname or the drop in his tone; He knows it means he’d best obey, and he knows it means he can’t call Ignis by name anymore. For the rest of this session, his name is ‘sir’. Not Ignis, not Iggy, or Specs. Sir.

Noctis does what’s asked of him, and he does it without second thought. He’s never really had an issue getting basically naked in front of Ignis - he’s known the guy since he was three. So he toes off his boots, tosses off his shirt, and goes for his jeans. The prince doesn’t take his eyes off of his advisor, however, and watches in anticipation as he tightens those gloves. 

“Where do you want me, sir?” Noct’s voice is calm, quieter than normal. “On my knees?”

\--

/Whack/.

Ignis does his best to land a well-aimed smack to Noct’s thighs with his cane. “You speak when spoken to, kitten. Were you spoken to?”

He leans against his cane and listens to Noctis, already panting slightly from the treatment. Oh it has been a while. This feeling he has, this control and this intimacy, it’s heady and erotic. It has Ignis feeling quite warm under his clothes. But it’s not time for him to undress. The longer he remains clothed while Noctis does not, the more thorough the humiliation Noctis had no less than begged for will be.

“Now you don’t get to keep the pants. Take them off, then lean over the bed. I want you to count and thank me for each one.” Ignis hardly waited to hear him still after he does as asked before he’s swinging the cane through the air and feeling it contact Noct’s bare behind. The sound of intricately carved wood meeting flesh fills the room. He can’t be sure his aim is as good as it could be, but he is at least able to make his mark, generally. It just won’t be as… organised as he used to be.

\--

Noctis shivers, going to whisper a negative, but his teeth click shut with a sharp hiss. The impact stings but the pain is relieving, it clears his mind and leaves the prince with only one objective: _Obey_. Obey, and stay quiet, and don’t forget your manners. He inhales deeply and exhales sharply, the lingering bite of Ignis’ cane reminding him of what’s to come.

Noctis does as he’s told. With slight hesitation removes his boxers, leaning over the bed and fisting his hands in the sheets. “Yessir,” he breathes, but the breath is cut short by the swift hit he receives. It feels _good_ , the pain is relieving, and it makes him forget. It makes Noctis forget everything besides the sound of Ignis’ voice. 

He counts. Staggered and choked, he spits out a, “One. Th-ank you,” and buries his face in the bed, preparing for the next lash. He repeats the action when it hits home, and Noctis can tell he’s gonna have a tough time sitting after this.

Well. It’s deserved.

\--

Ignis lays his cane over Noctis fifteen times before he finally stops. He imagines there’s a pretty red blush with lines from the cane marked in Noct’s skin and he mourns the inability to _see_ them. Instead, he places a gloved hand onto the boy. He mistakes his mark a bit, landing his hand on Noct’s lower back, but he simply slides his palm down until he’s cupping the boy’s ass, naked thumb feeling the heat of it.

Almost as soon as the soothing hand is placed, Ignis lifts it again. “Stand up, bend over, hold your ankles.” Ignis knows the position to be particularly humiliating, which Noct had asked for. It would force him to be on display, naked and exposed, while being unable to soothe the burn from the spanking.

Ignis takes the moment it takes Noctis to move to take a seat on the bed. When he senses Noctis has obeyed, he hums thoughtfully as he slowly pulls off his gloves. “Describe how you feel.”

\--

The fifteenth strike has Noctis trembling so hard, even the bedsheets in his palms shake with him. There’s a sting and a dull ache all the way from his ass to his spine, a numbness that leaves him hard and weak in the knees. His throat is dry and the inside of his cheek is raw where he’s bitten a too hard. 

Noct’s throat is tight as Ignis runs a hand down him. In any other circumstance, he might bite some sort of remark; but not now. Not when this punishment is so thoroughly deserved. Not when Ignis is driving home his own mistakes with well-aimed smacks, despite his lack of sight. Noct whines low, one trembling hand moving to cover his mouth.

With great hesitation, he does as he’s told, because he needs to. He’s been given an order. Noctis flushes deeply as he bends over, inhaling and exhaling. He’s grateful Ignis cannot see him this way. But that quickly melts into shame, shame that he’s _actually grateful_ for his lack of sight - Noct’s throat tightens like Ignis wrapped his hand around it. His eyes start stinging. 

“I feel…” How does Noct feel? “...Open. I feel-- I feel awful. Shameful. Disgusted in myself.”

\--

Something in the sound of Noct’s voice breaks through Ignis’ headspace. He’s hurting. He’s in _pain_. Not physical, although Ignis is sure there’s that, too. But emotional. Far deeper hurt than even Ignis had thought. They shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t be doing this. He’s making it worse, he knows it. He can hear it in Noct’s voice.

Maybe it’s time to change tactics.

“Let us see how open you really are, then. Come here, help me with my clothes.” Although, help in this case means for Noct to nearly do all the work himself. Ignis simply allows himself to be undressed, only helping when necessary. Until he is the one that feels quite open and vulnerable. He has no sense of how Noctis is looking at him, or if he’s even worth looking at anymore. He has more scars than the last time they were together. Ugly scars clawing through his skin, not only on his face but all over him.

Some even self inflicted.

When his clothes are gone, he sits back down and pulls Noctis to him, bringing his hands to his still warm ass harder than strictly necessary. “Lube?” It’s a question. Though it probably shouldn’t be. Ignis should demand they use it, it’s been too long. And he doesn’t want to hurt Noctis too much. But he leaves the choice to his prince.

\--

“Yessir.” Noctis’ voice is raspy now, choked and seemingly stuck in his throat. He does as he’s told, slowly going for the buttons on his advisor’s shirt. He does it slowly, keeping his eyes on Ignis and studying him, almost like he’d disappear if he didn’t. Almost like he’d disappear if his eyes left him like they had in Altissia. He can feel his eyes burning with unshed tears, but _damn_ if he’s going to start crying in the middle of sex.

Ignis is covered in scars. To Noct, though, they’re proof of his vitality; they all tell a story, they all show what this man is made of. They’re beautiful, if Noctis were to be sickeningly sappy. Even the new ones, still fresh, wounds not quite completely healed over. Even the ones that look… Too small to be inflicted via beast or battle, and too large and deep to be scrapes. 

The hands on his backside feel warm, and they refresh the sting and Noct can’t help but choke. He lets out another hiss, but nods at Ignis’ question. “Yes sir,” he says, “But no fingers. Just let me adjust slow.” Or don’t at all. Slowly the prince is realizing he doesn’t much care for finishing; Just the mess Ignis is going to make of him. The pile of disgrace that will be left in his advisor’s wake.

\--

Ignis can feel something odd in the way Noctis undresses him. He can feel a tension that he can’t place. If only he could _see_ Noctis. He would know what it is. He would know if he’s going, or already gone, too far.

He’s pleased, though, that Noctis agrees to lube. It’s better than he expected, although not what he would have prefered. Ignis would rather take Noctis apart slowly, really revel in making him want and beg. But he wants harsh, so that is what the advisor shall deliver.

“Go get it, then.” There should be some in his bag at least. Maybe Noct has some as well. Either way, he’s sure he can find some somewhere. When he returns, the bottle is placed in his hand and he can feel Noctis near shaking with anticipation. He wastes no ceremony in squeezing plenty of the gel into his hands and slicking himself up, allowing a few extra strokes to get fully hard.

Then he looks up at Noctis with unseeing eyes and gestures to his lap. “Your throne, your majesty.”

\--

Noctis inhales deeply. They begin. 

It’s the _immense_ pain that finally forces the tears down his cheeks. They’re silent, because he cannot allow Ignis to hear, and he won’t let them truly fall. This is the reminder that it’s been a while, too long, because Ignis is bigger and much harder to take than the prince last remembered - it hurts to relax. It takes several moments of stopping and starting again to get himself fully seated on Ignis, and several moments longer to contain the tears still threatening to fall. 

It _hurts_. But it’s a good pain. A pain that reminds Noctis he really, truly isn’t as bad off as could be. This must be nothing compared to the bonfire behind his advisor’s eyes. Noct hardly sits still for longer than absolutely necessary before asking, shakily and unsteady, “C-Can I move, sir?”

\--

Noctis’ heat is both painfully familiar and painfully new. Ignis groans from the intensity more than once. He rests his hands on Noctis’ hips and his fingers dig into his skin as he sinks down further. Slowly.

Ignis can tell it hurts. He can tell Noctis was nowhere near ready. He wishes he could have spent hours stretching him open, preparing him until he was gaping and begging. But this is what he wanted. So Ignis just tries to enjoy it. It’s not hard, not when Noctis is so tight and warm around him, sinking down slowly and surrounding him. He feels good, right. Ignis _missed_ this.

Noctis barely stops after sitting fully on him before he’s asking to move. Ignis feels the way the younger is punishing himself. And it feels so wrong to indulge it, to help him in it. But, then again, Ignis never could say no to him.

“Yes, kitten. Slowly now.”

\--

Noctis obeys, though it’s not like he particularly wants to. He starts slowly, just barely moving his hips and feeling the burn of being unadjusted; And hearing the choked noises he manages to wrestle out of Ignis. Those noises, the pain and the lasting impression of this punishment are the driving forces behind it all. Behind the need to move too quickly. 

The desire for pain just barely outweighs the desire to see Ignis forget. To see him come undone, to see him moan and choke instead of seeing silent, unmoving. Stone, outwardly. Noct wants to provide this much - pleasure in exchange for pain. 

The prince starts to move his hips a little faster, eyes still stinging with shed and unshed tears alike, trying to grip onto Ignis’ shoulders for balance and dear life. This is a good pain. This is a clearing pain. This is a reminder.

\--

Noctis starts perfectly and Ignis throws his head back with a quiet moan, fingers digging into Noctis’ hips. Ignis had forgotten just how amazing it is to have Noctis like this, open and vulnerable and _hot_. It lets him forget that this is a punishment, that he never really wanted to do this. Lets him just experience Noctis in this intimate way.

His charge begins speeding up, without permission. But Ignis doesn’t care, he’s too far gone to care. Instead, his grip on his hips tightening even more and encouraging the increase in speed. He helps Noctis to go, guides him even faster, seeking that release he knows they both need.

In an effort to make this at least sort of pleasurable, and to reward Noctis to his obedience, Ignis adjust his hips to angle just so. He knows Noctis so intimately and he could never forget just how to make him scream. How to make him cry from that intense pleasure. He loves those sounds. He only wants Noctis to feel. But no more pain, only pleasure.

\--

There’s a jolt of pleasure that runs straight up Noct’s spine when Ignis takes control once again. He cries out softly, eyes snapping shut and nails digging into his advisor’s skin, grounding him. He can’t even watch as Ignis loses himself, too, because they’re both gone and only release can bring them back. Breathy whispers of Ignis’ title slip constantly, each time that spot is struck and gives undeserved pleasure.

They’re connected. But Altissia is still in ruins, and Ignis is still blind, and Noct still cannot wear his ring. 

It’s all over in a flurry, for Noct. Ignis knows how to work him even when he doesn’t want it and it’s not what he seeks. He falls limp, wet cheeks resting on Ignis’ shoulder. He realizes, in the haze of his afterglow, that Ignis was going to try to administer aftercare; Noctis also realizes he doesn’t want it. Perhaps that he doesn’t deserve it. He wants to stew in this, in this mess of sweat, sex and utter and absolute disgrace.

\--

Ignis is surprised that he doesn’t need a warning before Noctis comes undone. He can feel it in the way he moves his body, hear it in the hitch of his breath. So it is no surprise when he feels the warm fluid spread between them, coating both their chests.

And it takes him mere seconds to follow right behind.

Noct sags against him, face resting against his shoulder. Ignis can feel dampness there. Was he crying from the intensity or was it something else? Ignis can’t be sure, not without his sight. But it doesn’t really matter. This is the part he’s always excelled at, maybe even his favourite part.

He lifts Noctis off of him gently, allowing himself to slip free before settling the prince back on his lap more comfortably. Then he pulls him close starts showering him in soft, gentle kisses. “So good for me, kitten. So good.” Praise falls from his lips like a prayer as his hands work in soft caresses, trying to soothe the pain he’d just inflicted.

\--

Noctis doesn’t want to push Ignis away. But he doesn’t want to forget what this lesson means. He doesn’t want to forget that this was punishment, and not reward, and he doesn’t want to forget exactly what his purpose was. To be used for his sir’s pleasure, and that only. Noct still tries to be careful when he says, “Ignis-- Ignis, you can’t… Not this time. Just let me sit here, tell me what I did wrong.”

Drive it all home, Noctis thinks. Drive it all home and remind me that I’m nothing at all besides a failure, and a coward. Bring this lesson to a close, Ignis, please don’t ruin it by loving me through my failure and carelessness.

\--

Oh, _Noctis_.

His words hurt. They hurt more than the pain of his blindness, one hundred times over. More than any pain Ignis has ever known. It makes him feel used, discarded. Like Noctis never wanted _this_ , only what he could supply in the form of pain.

Like Noctis never wanted _him_.

His stomach knots and this throat tightens even as he holds Noctis against him. He's scared that this was a mistake, more so than he ever thought. He fears this will only widen the distance between them.

Maybe he'll leave him behind.

Anxiety churns in his gut as he attempts to come up with something, anything, to say. “Noct…” His voice is tight and on the verge of breaking. He needs this as much as he knows Noctis does. And yet… His grip loosens and his hands shake.

His mind is caught between giving into Noctis’ wishes and giving him the love and attention he knows he needs.

\--

...Oh. 

Ignis’ demeanor suddenly flips. He seems unsure of himself, he seems _frightened_ of their situation, and he seems upset. Upset in a hundred different ways, and Noctis wants to punch himself in the fucking throat. “Hey,” he starts, softly, his hands coming up to gently hold Ignis’ face. “Hey.”

Somehow, Noct knows what he wants. Because despite their distance, despite the radio silence, he’s still so familiar with this man. He’s known him as long as he can remember, and known him more intimately for _years_. “Ignis, it’s not you. It’s me, it’s just me, I can’t… It’s me. _Thank you_ , Ignis, thank you,” Noctis gently presses his forehead to his advisor’s, lingering. “I’m sorry. ‘M not good at this.” Noct sniffs a bit, trying to keep his own tears and voice under control.

\--

Noctis’ fingers feel so good, so right, on his face. He holds him like they never had this distance. And he apologises as if he has anything to apologise for. Ignis never thinks the prince has anything to apologise for, even when he chastises him. He’s never minded being the caretaker.

He takes a breath and clutches at Noctis, reveling in their contact. “Let me take care of you. Let me do my _job_.” As advisor, as retainer.

As lover.

He leans forward, pressing an insistent but chaste kiss to Noctis’ lips. Though it’s off center and clumsy. “Just… give me this. Please.” He just wants to hold him. Pretend for just a moment that everything is ok. That Noctis isn’t heading directly to his death. That they actually have some time.

\--

Noctis caves. 

He can’t deny Ignis, not when he so very clearly needs to love as much as Noct wants to _be_ loved. He doesn’t want it on a surface level, not at first, but the longer they stay this close the faster his mind starts to change. “Okay,” he whispers, his voice still unsteady, “Okay. C’mere, Specs.”

They lay down. Still covered in gods-know-what and sticky, Noctis still keeps close to Ignis, electing to worry about showering at a later time. He traces Ignis, carefully, running fingers over new scars and marks on his face. Noct kisses over the one on his lip, and touches it softly when he pulls back. 

It’s been too long.

\--

When they lay down together, it’s like everything falls into place. Ignis doesn’t even mind nor care about the drying semen on his chest and how messy they are. Because at least he has Noctis, solid and real, wrapped up with him. At least he has fingers exploring him and lips on him.

Ignis sighs against Noctis, holding him close and alternating between holding him too tight and too soft. Conflicted between holding on like Noctis will melt away and treating him like the most fragile of glass. He kisses him like he needs him to breathe. Like Noctis is his only source of life.

And for the first time since Altissia, his eyes don’t hurt.

“I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/playingchello).


End file.
